The Strangers
by Stars In Tokyo
Summary: "Come now, wolf," Joffrey Baratheon hissed, "Time to be given away to your new husband." [The strange & awkward relationship of Sansa Stark & Tyrion Lannister]
1. SANSA : The Wedding

**A/N**: hi everyone! So I'm not 100% positive where I'm going to take this story, but this first chapter will be a rehash of Tyrion & Sansa's wedding. Let me know what you think

* * *

The king had Sansa Stark's arm in a death grip. "Come now, wolf," Joffrey Baratheon hissed, "Time to be given away to your new husband." The king smirked, and shoved the girl toward his uncle.

It was a nightmare. Sansa had never thought her life would turn out like this: being dragged to the altar by the monster that had her father executed, to wed a deformed, hideous imp, Tyrion Lannister. She wanted to run, to fight her way from the sept. Sansa didn't even know where she would run. Tyrion explained himself, how he had taken no part in making their match, if she preferred marrying his cousin, Lancel, instead. Sansa knew it would make no difference which Lannister she wed. He took her hand in his, and led her toward the altar. Her heart hammered as they neared ever closer. _Run, run, run, run, run..._

But Sansa knew better: she had to do her duty, and marry this grotesque half man. With her father executed, her brother a traitor, she had nowhere to turn.

The ceremony went as planned, and she said the vows, as was expected of her, rehearsed words spilling forth. As the septon recited the blessings, Sansa thought of the Hound. _Sing me a song, little bird_. He had been right all along; she just didn't want to admit it.

Joffrey removed Sansa's cloak of House Stark. Before she knew it, it was time for Tyrion to drape the Lannister colors over the shoulder of his new bride. Sansa stood with her back to him, knowing full well he could not reach her. Thinking about what the Hound had said brought out a vicious streak buried deep within. Tyrion tugged at her skirts. She did not move, and felt a second tug. Again, she refused to kneel. Stifled laughter could be heard in the sept now, as Tyrion tugged for a third, rougher, time. Joffrey said something she did not bother listening to; Tyrion was standing on Dontos' back so the imp could cloak her in crimson and gold. Sansa felt a twinge of guilt, but nothing more.

She left the sept a Lannister. A Lannister only by name, she still had the dire wolf at her core. She would be sure to never forget it. Sansa held her head high, despite the lions surrounding her.

Throughout the feast that followed the ceremony, Joffrey leered at her from a few seats away. The only thing that disgusted her more was the fact that she had been infatuated with this beast. It wasn't long ago when she swooned over the newly crowned king. Now even his pretty face made her feel ill. She looked away as Joffrey led his newly betrothed, Margaery Tyrell, onto the dance floor. When Sansa asked her husband to dance, he curtly refused, as if she had made a cruel joke at his expense.

Sansa Lannister sat in her chair, straight as an arrow, showing no outward emotion; but on the inside, Sansa Stark was falling apart. It would soon be time for the bedding, and she was terrified. The thought of being stripped and humiliated by these drunken men, and carried off to her marital bed, was almost too much for her to bear. She felt the lump in her throat and inhaled.

Joffrey called out to the guests that it was time for the bedding, and Sansa froze, her lungs seized in her chest. The time had come for the marriage to be consummated. Tyrion said something, but through all the noise of the hall, she didn't catch it. But everyone saw him slam his dagger into the table, quivering where it stuck. They fell silent.

Tyrion jumped down from his seat, and grabbed Sansa's forearm. "Come, wife," he demanded as he dragged her away, "Time for me to smash your portcullis." No one dared to follow.

Once in their bedchamber, Tyrion poured two glasses of wine, passing one to his bride. He swirled the liquid and sighed, "Drink, your lord husband commands it." Sansa, ever obedient, downed the wine. It made her nauseous.

"Why did you do that, Sansa?" he asked, taking a gulp from his cup.

"My lord, I don't understand?"

"Tyrion."

"My lord? I-"

"My name. My name is Tyrion, Sansa."

"Yes, my l-Tyrion."

Silence.

"You have been trained quite well, Sansa. I'm impressed."

"Tyrion, my lord, I don't understand."

"You didn't try to run," he replied, "You didn't fight. You allowed my sweet sister, and ever honorable nephew, drag you to the sept, and force you into a marriage with..." his voice trailed off, but he didn't hide his contempt. He poured more wine. "I wanted to congratulate you on a job well done, but that whole affair was the easy part. Standing at the altar, reciting vows, that's easy," he explained, mismatched eyes focused intently on her, "This will be the difficult part."

More silence. Sansa stared at her hands and said nothing. She sat at the edge of her bed, wondering if she should take her clothes off, spread her legs, and give in; not only to Tyrion, but to the entire Lannister clan. Her mind jumped to Tyrion disrobing. If he were this ugly with clothes on, how hideous would he be with them _off_? The thought sent her deeper into panic. She began to imagine Tyrion, with his cock hard and ready, plunging into her over and over. She could hear him panting like an animal in heat, with every thrust, tearing her body apart.

"Sansa."

He stood before her now, looking up at her. He looked even more hideous in the dim candlelight, with his missing nose, facial scars, and stunted, twisted body. He took her hand in his, and she stared at his stubby fingers. _This man is my husband now, _she thought, _but at least he isn't Joffrey. _That would be the only way it could be worse.

"Sansa, I know I am in no position to ask anything of you," he explained, as he stroked her hand, "My family has ravaged you and your family, and has taken away everything you love and hold dear, and now they have wed you to me. The Lannister's key to the North," he looked away, feeling ashamed. He swallowed and continued, "Sansa, my sweet girl-"

"I'm a woman grown. I have flowered."

"Be that as it may-"

"I can take it, you know," she looked away, "Let's just get it over with," Sansa laid back on the bed, lifted up her skirts, and pulled down her small clothes. A few moments of silence passed before she spoke up again, "What are you waiting for, my lord? Tyrion?"

He stared at the small bush of dark auburn curls between her legs and cleared his throat, "At least you remembered my name."

Sansa spread her legs and stared up at the ceiling. She was ready to give herself to whatever lay ahead.


	2. TYRION : What Do I Keep?

Tyrion pulled himself onto the bed between Sansa's open legs and unlaced his breeches. Her eyes were wide, never looking at him. Her body was stiff as a corpse; the lust he felt dissolved as he stared at her tense frame and stoic expression. Tyrion dropped his gaze.

"Sansa, I won't do this to you," he explained, "My father demanded that our marriage be consummated, but I won't do it."

Sansa sat up, and covered herself.

"Say something, Sansa."

Moments ticked by, but she remained silent.

The dwarf laced up his breeches and jumped down from what should have been their marital bed. He grabbed his cup of wine, and knocked it back, filling it up one last time. The room began to spin as he found his feet. As he took his leave, his eyes lingered on the girl laying there in her wedding dress: young, innocent, and so cold.

"Goodnight, Sansa."

"Goodnight, my lord."

* * *

The next morning, handmaids stripped the bedding, as they did every day. Tyrion watched as they pulled back the linens, looked at each other, then back at the bed. Word would spread like wildfire: not a drop of blood could be seen. As the girls passed him, they did not make eye contact. Tyrion stood in the bedchamber, thinking of all the nasty rumors those two would spread throughout King's Landing. _Let them talk_, he thought bitterly, _we can't always hide the truth_.

Sansa was already in the solar, waiting for him. Their breakfast had been laid out on the table: fruit, bread, and blood sausages. His bride sat straight, hands in her lap, and had touched nothing. She waited for her lord husband, like a proper lady. Tyrion caught himself grinning; here was his wife, perfect, prim and proper, waiting for him, the hideous, whore mongering half man. He found the irony amusing, stifled a snort of laughter.

"My lord, is something the matter?" Sansa asked.

"No, nothing," he replied, "And my name is Tyrion, remember?"

"Yes, I am sorry."

"I just want you to feel...comfortable."

Only afterward did he realize how ridiculous he sounded. The girl stared at her hands, and did not reply. When he could no longer bear the stillness of silence between himself and his wife, he took his seat across from her, and filled his plate with bread and sausage. As he went to pour wine from the carafe, Sansa cleared her throat.

"Isn't it a bit early?"

"For the wine, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Maybe it's too late. The sun has already risen, has it not?"

Sansa did not smile.

"But as we all know," Tyrion continued, "It is never too early, or too late, for wine," he poured a second goblet and handed it to her. An awkward moment of inertia passed, but she took it. He knew she wouldn't refuse it; Sansa was too obedient to reject her husband outright, no matter how much she despised their coupling. The girl took a sip.

"Please, eat, unless my face disturbs you so." She glanced at him, took the heel from the loaf of bread and began to nibble at it. "Sansa, there will be rumors about you and I."

"I understand, my lord."

"Questions will be asked," he continued, "About what may or may not have transpired. Because we didn't-"

"My septa explained everything to me," she replied.

"She explained _everything_?" he asked, cocking a scarred brow.

"Yes, the pain, the blood, all of it," Sansa's gaze became distant as words spilled forth, "She also explained how every man is beautiful in his own way, and how I should find that beauty in my lord husband some day."

The awkward silence that continued to plague them returned. _And what beauty have you found in me, my sweet? _Tyrion thought, feeling dejected. He jumped down from his chair, and coughed.

"I will take my leave, my lady," he said, getting tangled in trite courtesies, much like his child bride. _If courtesy is a lady's armor, what is a dwarf's armor? _he thought bitterly, as he left Sansa alone with her thoughts.


	3. SANSA : Savior

Sansa sat in the solar, warm morning light streaming in, and stared at her hands. The hands folded neatly in her lap were still those of a frightened girl. She wanted to feel the lightness of her old life at Winterfell: reading stories about knights and princes, riding horses with her friends, playing with her brothers. She even missed fighting with Arya. _They are all gone,_ she thought miserably, _Along with the fairytale life we used to live. _Sansa saw the tears on the back of her hands before she felt them.

The door to the solar burst open, and Joffrey strode in, flanked by Boros Blount and Ilyn Payne. Terror gripped Sansa, but she buried it; she quickly wiped her eyes, and donned the armor of a lady.

"Your grace," she floundered a bit, but curtsied when she found her feet.

"Stark," the king spat, "I came to see how your bedding with my uncle went. Tell me."

"Very well, your grace."

"I did not come for trite responses, I came for _details_."

"I-I prefer to keep these matters private, your-"

"Your king demands it," Joffrey interrupted. Blount and Payne were both smirking.

"I-I..." Sansa stammered. Lying would be treason, and the truth...

"So, the rumors are true then," he decided, before she could reply, "My uncle didn't fuck the wolf, after all." Blount chucked, while the tongue-less Payne made an odd clucking noise that could only be laughter. Joffrey smirked, "I think the bitch needs a good fucking, don't you, good sers?" The knights nodded in agreement.

Sansa rushed the door, but never even touched the handle. Blount and Payne each easily snatched her shoulders and dragged her back. He stared at her with cold eyes, and waved his hand. She screamed as they ripped her clothes away, a repeat of that horrible day in court. Their filthy hands tore away her small clothes, and shoved her at Joffrey's feet.

"Blount, Payne, you are both dismissed. It will be over soon," the pair nodded, leering at the nude young woman as they took their leave.

The king placed a finger under her chin, and lifted her eyes to his, "Stand up."

She rose from the floor, hands desperately tried to cover her shame, with an arm across her chest, and a palm spread between her legs. He shoved her hands away.

"On your knees," he commanded; she obeyed.

"Please, please, your grace," she begged, "Please, don't-"

"Remember this," he interjected, as he unlaced his breeches, "You're mine now."

When she felt her face hit the cold, stone floor, and her leg's being pried apart, she stopped resisting. Joffrey's humiliation would never end, so why fight it anymore? She would just take it, just the way she had imagined her nights with Tyrion would go. Sansa's entire body clenched with fear when she felt the tip of Joffrey's cock at her entrance. He panted over her, clumsily trying to shove himself inside. His nails raked across her shoulders.

Joffrey jerked away. Sansa bolted.

"I should have done this the first time," Tyrion stood with his dagger in hand, boot on Joffrey's chest. The king shrieked as his uncle lunged for his now limp cock.

"Don't!"

"Is this why you sent Blount and Payne away?" he asked with a smirk, as he sheathed the blade, "Didn't want them to see that?"

Joffrey flushed as he tucked himself back into his breeches, and laced up, "This is treason, Imp!"

"My wife is not some toy for you to play with," Tyrion spat.

"This isn't over," Joffrey snarled, and slunk out of the room. When the door finally shut, Sansa's husband sighed with relief and turned to her.

"Are you alright?" he asked breathlessly. Sansa sunk back down her knees and began to sob, chest heaving with every breath. She felt Tyrion's small hands on her shoulders, as he drew her in. She continued to sob onto his shoulde.

"I know...I'm not the knight you wanted, but..." he grasped for words, "I can do my best to defend you." It was no fluke; Tyrion had saved her twice now. Putting her trust in him terrified her, but he was her only lifeline now. For all his outward ugliness, Sansa clung to her husband, naked frame still trembling.

"Tyrion," she whispered, voice hoarse from screaming, "Thank you."


	4. TYRION : Change of Heart

Tyrion had already reached the library when he remembered the misplaced book. Frustrated and weary, he turned himself back toward the solar. _This world was certainly not created for the likes of me, _he thought as his legs began to cramp, _one minor injustice in a world of many great ones._

He knew something was amiss when he spied Blount and Payne descending the stairs away from his chambers. Tyrion had stepped aside, into the corner of the hallway; they never even noticed him in the shadows. _There may be benefits to being a dwarf yet_. Tyrion slipped right past them. With his legs aching, it was slow going, but midway, he heard a shriek. Sweat on his brow, breathing heavily, he hauled himself up the stairs as fast as his twisted legs would allow.

When the door burst open, he saw Sansa, nude, on all fours, with Joffrey taking her from behind. Tyrion did not know where his strength came from, but he had his dagger unsheathed and managed to send his nephew sprawling onto the floor.

As Joffrey stormed out, Tyrion knew that he had just fanned the flames of what would become a wildfire. He hoped to the gods that he would be able to snuff it out before it consumed him, and Sansa. She lunged for him, wrapping her arms around his stunted body, weeping. He tried to apologize, for the so-called knights Blount and Payne, for Joffrey's wickedness, for himself.

"Tyrion...thank you."

He inhaled sharply, and put his arms around her. Sansa dropped her lady's armor, revealing a vulnerable, young woman; desperate for protection from the cruelness she had been subjected to.

"Come," Tyrion said, "Let's get you dressed."

She sniffled in response as he helped her off the floor. Her naked, clinging body had given him an erection he did not want her to feel. He cursed himself for it as he led her into their bedchamber; if she did notice, she gave no indication of it. Tyrion glanced over her body as she pulled on fresh small clothes. There would be bruising, yes, but no serious physical injuries he could see. But...

Tyrion cleared his throat, "Sansa, I'm sorry, but I must ask-"

"No."

"Sansa, I-"

"He didn't." She turned, her face already starting to swell, bruises already blooming, "He didn't."

Tyrion nodded. Sansa stepped into a clean navy blue dress, with gray embroidered details. She sat on a short stool near the wardrobe, with the open back of the dress exposing the curve of her spine.

"Will you help me, please, Tyrion?"

He went over and began lacing up her dress. Tyrion had plenty of experience stripping clothes off of women, but dressing them? Never. He fumbled crossing each strip of fabric, tugging tightly after each lacing. The dwarf had to stretch to reach near Sansa's shoulders and neck; she could see him struggling, and kneeled on the floor for him. A small pang of hope shot through Tyrion's body: _she's kneeling for me, when a single day ago, she was refusing me._

"There," he stated, feeling accomplished, "And my father said I would never accomplish anything."

"Thank you."

Tyrion took her hand in his, with his blunt fingers looking childish around he slender ones. _Does she only see the ugly monster everyone believes me to be? _He looked up, and caught his wife faintly smiling.

"My dearest Sansa," he began, still stroking her hand, "you're smiling. I hope you're not on the brink of insanity," he paused, grinning, "at least not yet."

"No, no, I just never believed..."

"Go on. I won't be offended."

"I just never believed that someone, someone like you, would..."

"Waddle to your rescue?"

A laugh burst from Sansa's lips. She caught herself, and quickly put a hand to her mouth, "I am so sorry, my lor-Tyrion."

"Don't be."

"I should not-"

"I know I'm an hideous, twisted dwarf, Sansa. I have heard it my entire life. I want our union, forced as it is, to be tolerable for you. If it is a jape at my expense, than so be it. Now, after everything that happened today..."

The mood turned dark again; Sansa averted her gaze.

_How will I protect her? How can I keep her from falling into despair? How can I convince her to trust me?_

"You cannot be alone anymore," Tyrion explained, "I will have to arrange for someone I can trust to be with you throughout the day when I cannot. If I threaten our beloved king again, I fear that I might end up shorter than I already am."

Sansa did not smile this time. She swallowed hard, and said, "I...I would like to lay down. I feel faint," she went to the bed.

"May I?"

"Yes."

Tyrion pulled himself up beside her. _What in Seven Hells are we going to do? Joffrey will never stop until he gets what he wants. _Joffrey wanted Sansa's maidenhead; that much was clear. Tyrion quickly dismissed his first solution: to take her maidenhead himself. If he deflowered her, he hoped that his nephew would find her less appealing. _He would not want my used goods. _But he would not force himself on Sansa, even in the name of keeping her safe. _She would never put her faith in me, if I did something as terrible as that. _

Abandoning King's Landing and running was certainly not an option; he would not be able to disguise his appearance. _Cannot hide being short, _Tyrion thought bitterly, _and out there is no safer than here. _Thieves, pirates, murderers, and rapists run rampant in Westeros. He could not control those men, for sure, but he _could_ attempt to control his nephew. He would have to tread lightly though; he thought back to Ned Stark's executions on the steps of Baelor's Sept, and cringed. 

"What are you thinking about?" Sansa asked, breaking the silence.

"How to keep you safe."

"How is that...coming along?"

"Well enough."

"Do you...have a plan?"

"Somewhat, yes."

She paused, "Thank you."

"Sansa, this is my duty to you, as your husband."

"I suppose," she paused again, "I should as well."

Her words were a statement, not a question. Tyrion glanced over at his wife. She gripped his hand, and he squeezed back in response.


	5. JOFFREY & TYRION : Tension

**Author's Note**: I just wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed, favorited & followed this story. I really appreciate it & hope you continue to enjoy it!

* * *

Joffrey stormed out of his uncle's chambers in a fury. _How dare that imp stop me from taking what I want? I am the king of Westeros, for fucks sake! If I want Sansa, I _will _have her!_ He whipped himself up into a boundless frenzy, blood roiling with rage and lust. A meek serving girl passed him, and he gave her a rough shove, knocking her to the floor. She gave a small squeak as she fell, but picked herself up and rushed off, not looking back. _The next one I see will get a dagger in her belly._

He reached for the hilt of the Valaryian steel blade. Joffrey had snatched it from his deceased father's collection; Robert could make no use of it, not since that boar gored him to death. _He deserved it, that drunken bastard. _The newly appointed king had the knife on him at all times, but forgot all about it when Tyrion stood over him, his own dagger in hand.

Joffrey was ashamed to admit it, but his uncle had caught him off guard, and gotten the best of him. If he had not been so focused on Sansa's tight, little cunt; he didn't realize how difficult forcing himself inside of her would be. He would never admit to being a virgin, but fumbling and awkwardness betrayed him. Joffrey was even more ashamed at how he withered at the sight of the blade in his uncle's hand. Terror gripped him, and he hated himself for showing weakness, especially in front of Tyrion. Joffrey seethed, thinking of how his uncle smirked at his limp cock.

He flung the doors to his solar open and stomped over to the window, looking out on the expanse of the city. Joffrey inhaled sharply, salty sea air filling his nostrils. _All of this is mine, including Sansa. You just wait and see, Uncle Tyrion. I will have my revenge. _Calmness rushed over him in a way he had not felt in ages.

* * *

Tyrion's pulse quickened as he lay beside his wife. _What is she suggesting, exactly? _Sansa rolled over onto her side, staring at him, auburn hair splayed across her pillow. She examined his face, eyes lingering on his scars, and stump of a nose. It made him uncomfortable. He looked away.

"I should make the best of it..."

"I won't touch you until you want me to."

"What if I never do?"

"Never?"

"It's my duty, as your wife, to- to let you...I must give you an heir...but it doesn't mean..." she fumbled, unable to express her true feelings.

"You are disgusted by my appearance," frustrated by her silence, he continued, "Sansa, just be honest with me, that is all I ask."

"I can just...bear it."

"Sansa, you've been through so much already-"

"It doesn't have to be enjoyable-"

"What if it _is_?" The thought caused a beautiful flush to creep up her neck, mingling strangely with the purplish bruises along her jaw line, "If the mere suggestion makes you blush, just imagine...I-I can satisfy you, Sansa. I know I'm ugly, but in the darkness..." words caught in his throat, he looked into her eyes, "I can pleasure you beyond anything you've ever dreamed."

She inhaled, eyes wide. _The girl pities you, you fool, _Tyrion thought, _either that or you've terrorized her further. After what Joffrey has done, she would never want to- _Their lips met in a short, sloppy kiss, initiated by the inexperienced girl. She pulled away, face flushed, staring at him, waiting for a reaction. Tyrion had almost as little experience with kissing as Sansa; whores would fuck him senseless, but their lips would never grace his. _Except for one_. Tyrion tried to push her from his mind, but as he studied Sansa's young face, he saw too many similarities.

"Sansa, there's something you should know," he cleared his throat, "I was married once before. When I was your age."

"What happened...?"

Tyrion lingered for a moment on telling the truth, but he didn't have it in him. He always begged Sansa for the truth, and here he was, telling a blatant lie. He couldn't bear the truth this time. Just the thought of Tysha, his first wife, made him weak. His brother, Jaime, explained how she was only a whore he had paid to make a man of him. By the end of the night, they fell into bed together as husband and wife. She did it for the coin, Jaime explained, not for love. Tyrion felt betrayed, but still fought against his father's punishment for Tysha. Tywin Lannister had his youngest son's marriage annulled, and had the whore banished. But before he had her shipped off to gods know where, he handed her over to his guards. Tyrion was last in line, and dropped a gold piece into her hands when he finished, one gold among dozens of silvers. She had gotten what she was after. _A Lannister always pays his debts._

"She left," he lied.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up painful memories for you."

"It's...don't dwell on it. It's not your fault," Sansa placed a hand on top of his; he found some comfort in her gentle touch. "Come, wife, we have business to attend to." Tyrion slid off the bed, with Sansa following close behind.


	6. SANSA : Just the Same, but Brand New

"You brought the girl? How droll of you, Tyrion."

Tywin Lannister did not mince words. Tyrion's father sat by the fire, hands steepled beneath his chin. He was frigid, with a face that gave away nothing. Sansa wondered what was going on behind those unfeeling eyes of his. She shuddered, but Tyrion had plenty of experience dealing with the Hand of the King.

"We have matters that need to be discussed, father."

"Yes, like the fact that you have yet to consummate your marriage? I did not believe it would prove difficult for you, knowing how many whores you've taken to bed. Are they distracting you, Tyrion? You do remember what I said-"

"Father, this isn't the time, I'm sure you agree," Tyrion replied through gritted teeth, his face flushed.

"When is the right time, really?"

"Your grandson tried to have his way with my wife."

"Ah, so this is about Joffrey."

"He needs to be put in his place."

"He_ is _in his place, on the Iron Throne," Tywin waved them off, "We're done here."

"Lord Tywin, ser," Sansa dropped to her knees before the lord of Casterly Rock, bowing her head, "My lord husband is determined to change his ways, and wishes to respect my body by not forcing himself on me." Sansa did not look for Tyrion's reaction; Lord Tywin snorted.

"Lady Sansa, I find it interesting that a mere twenty-four hours ago, you were moping at your own wedding ceremony. It's difficult to believe that my son could have swayed you in such a short period of time. Tell me, Sansa _Stark_, why are you coming to his defense?"

She remained silent for a time, thinking on her response. _Sansa, just be honest with me, that is all I ask, _Tyrion's words echoed in her mind. "He is a good man, Lord Tywin," she explained, pulling herself to her feet, "If Tyrion wasn't there today..."

Tywin considered the girl before responding. "The king would have raped you."

"Yes, my lord," Sansa answered, feeling ashamed.

"Well, Tyrion, I suppose congratulations are in order: you are not entirely useless to this family, after all," he continued, "I will protect your wife from Joffrey, under one condition."

"And what would that be, father?"

"Must you ask?" Tywin sighed, "You will impregnate your wife, by the next turn of the moon."

"N-next turn of the moon?" Tyrion sputtered; Sansa's throat seized up.

"Your lord father commands it, so it shall be done," Tywin stated, "Put a Lannister in your wife, and I will do what I can to satiate our king's...desires. Now go, and do what you've always excelled at, Tyrion."

Sansa gave Lord Tywin a stiff curtsey, out of respect, with Tyrion giving him a final scathing glance, as they took their leave. A smirk crept onto Tywin's face, and gave a nod. She wondered if he would keep his word, even if her husband put a lion in her belly.

"Oh, and Tyrion," the Hand called out, "I want the proof on the morrow, and I know maiden's blood when I see it."

* * *

Once back in their chambers, Tyrion took to drinking. He pressed Dornish red into her hand and knocked back two full cups, before Sansa could finish half of hers. She watched him pacing and drinking. _I knew it would come to this_, she stared at the sweet, dark liquid, _maybe drinking will make it easier? _Sansa tossed it back, feeling it burn all the way down to the pit of her stomach. Her husband was working on his fourth.

"You were right, it needs to be done," Tyrion grimaced, his face looking more grotesque in the dim candlelight. Sansa saw beyond his physical being: he was a man wracked with internal strife. Her father had suffered the same, before his execution. "Come, wife," Tyrion said, as he took her hand in his, leading her, once again, to their bed. Sansa leaned back on the pillows. Her husband sat at her feet, staring at her.

"Why did you defend me?" he asked.

"You're my husband, it's my duty to-"

"Don't give me that," he snapped, "Why? What do you want? Tell me," he was now inches from her face, hands in a vice grip on her delicate shoulders.

"You protected me when I needed you. I wanted to do the same for you."

"And this is how I repay your kindness," Tyrion replied, bitterness clear in his voice.

Sansa could smell the wine on his breath before tasting it. He leaned in, slipping his tongue into her mouth. She felt herself redden as she returned his kiss. He reached beneath her skirts, and yanked off her smallclothes. She became rigid.

"I'll be quick," he promised, as he unlaced his breeches and exposed himself, his stiff cock already poking out from between his legs. She couldn't help but stare. "Even like this, you excite me," he blurted, "Even when it has to be like this..."

Tyrion stretched to snake his hand up her thigh. The young girl clenched at first, but even drunk, his fingers were deft. Sansa's body responded to every gentle stroke in a way she didn't understand. A moan escaped her lips when his thumb found her sweet spot.

"Is your hideous dwarf husband pleasuring you, Sansa?" he panted, as his fingers worked quicker. She spread her legs in response, he licked his lips. "Do you want more, wife?" Sansa nodded, unable to speak. Tyrion positioned himself between her legs, tip of his manhood already glistening wet. "It's going to hurt, my dear," he whispered, "I'm sorry..."

His first attempt was unsuccessful, but his second began deflowering her. She screamed with each thrust, her cries turning into a whimper with full penetration, her body stretching to accommodate him. Tyrion rested his forehead between her breasts, gripping her dress, groaning as he finished. Sansa felt a surge of warmth between her legs and strange, unexpected relief as he filled her up. He rolled onto his back, tucking his limp cock away. Even in the darkness, she could see the blood.

"Was it at least tolerable?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I'm glad," Tyrion replied with a yawn, and soon he was snoring. Sansa lay beside him, inner thighs sticky with his seed and her maiden's blood. The mingling fluid had already begun to seep into the sheets and mattress. _Lord Tywin will be pleased, _she thought.

Sansa allowed herself to sink into the mess they made. She had always dreamed of a knight in shining armor sweeping her off of her feet; she had, in her foolishness, even fantasized of a life with Joffrey, as his queen. The thought now made her ill. Sansa glanced over at her husband and swept loose golden curls off of his forehead, and kissed his brutish brow. _We never had a choice, you and I. It has always been someone else manipulating us, making decisions for us. We aren't very different, Tyrion Lannister._ Sansa slipped into dreamless, peaceful sleep.


	7. TYRION : Morning After

The incessant pounding on the chamber door drew Tyrion out of a deep sleep. Still in a haze, he rolled out of bed. He had all but forgotten Sansa for the moment; he needed the banging to stop.

"I apologize, m'lord," one of the chambermaids explained, "But Lord Tywin has requested the bed sheets to be stripped immediately."

Tyrion stood, disheveled and dumbfounded, the wine from the night prior shrouding his memory. He gripped the door handle, using it to steady himself. _The bed sheets? Why would he- _it came back to him in pieces: Tywin's insults, Sansa begging on her knees, and the warning. _Next turn of the moon...I know maiden's blood when I see it._ Tongue thick in his mouth, Tyrion turned around, and saw Sansa on the bed.

The girls had already rushed past him, and took to waking his wife. They pulled her from the bed, still in a daze, to her feet. She did not resist, and the sheet was ripped from the bed. Tyrion heard their giggles recede as the pair raced down the hall with their prize.

"Tyrion?" Sansa yawned, coppery hair still splayed about her face, "What happened?"

The room suddenly spun around, and Tyrion found himself on his hands and knees, retching up the contents of his stomach. Sansa, ever dutiful, rushed to his aid, one hand steadying him, the other rubbing his back. He wiped his mouth, and looked up at her. He blinked, seeing Tysha beside him, sweet face full of concern.

"I'm sorry," he choked, as his first wife morphed into his second; she still had a sweet face, still concerned.

"You-you did what you had to...for me," Sansa replied, as she helped him find his feet.

"Did what I had to," Tyrion echoed, "Father will be so pleased."

"Lord Tywin wishes to speak with you," one of the chambermaids had returned, "Alone," she added, and with a curtsey, she took her leave. Tyrion turned to his wife.

"Bolt the door once I leave, open it for no one but me. Do you understand?" he asked. Sansa gave a stiff nod in response. He held her hand for reassurance, and she gave him a nervous smile; the girl was terrified to be alone.

Tyrion staggered to his feet, and made his way over to the side table near the bed, picked up his dagger, and pressed it into Sansa's hand. She gripped the hilt, and gazed at the blade glinting in the bright morning light. "Just in case," he explained. Once in the hall, Tyrion heard the bolt slide into place. _She will be fine, she will be fine, she will be fine._

* * *

Tywin had the sheet spread across a table, dark red stain in the center. Tyrion stared at it, and felt his stomach turn again; bile shot up his throat, but he swallowed it back. The shamefulness was hard to face.

"Are you satisfied, father?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the dark, sticky mess, "I deflowered a girl of three-and-ten. Are you happy?"

"Your wife, you mean," Tywin corrected, "You are serving this family, as you should. It's become quite tiresome to bear the burden of all of your...shortcomings."

"Another jape at my expense? How droll," Tyrion's temper flared.

"I have no idea what you speak of, Tyrion."

"No idea-you have no-" he began, but decided it best to swallow his pride, along with the vomit, "Say what you must, father, and let me be on my way."

"Although, you did not have trouble your first time," Tywin smirked, ignoring his son's rage

"Do _not_-"

"She was a whore."

"Be that as it may," Tyrion replied through gritted teeth, "I still loved her."

"You were a fool," Tywin spat, and glanced at the sheet, "You are a Lannister, and you will now do your duty and serve this family," he put a hand on his son's shoulder, but did not smile; Tywin Lannister never smiled, "You have kept your promise, and I will keep mine. You are dismissed."

Tyrion left unable to decide how to feel. A part of him swelled at his father's approval. _Could he finally _proud_ of me? _Another part, the logical part, knew the truth: Tywin was just using him as a means to an end. He was aware of his games, but that small part of him still clung to the belief that his father could view him as his son, and not a monster to be ashamed of.

* * *

"He knows?" Sansa asked.

"Yes, he knows," Tyrion replied, hanging his head.

He had returned to their chambers to find Sansa, waiting patiently. A breakfast tray had been left outside of the door, so he knew that she had kept her word to not open the door. He felt a pang of guilt, knowing that she denied herself food on his account. _It was for her protection, for her safety._

He found her seated on their bed, dagger in her lap. _It truly is our bed now_, he thought as he gazed at the stains from his semen and her blood. They would not be easy to remove.

"Will he help us?"

"Yes, it will not benefit House Lannister for our king to put a bastard in you while married to Margaery Tyrell. He won't allow anyone, not even Joffrey, to sully our name," he explained, "Are you hungry, Sansa?" he had brought in the tray of fruit, cheese, bread, and sausage, and caught her eyeing it. She nodded, placed the dagger on the side table, and moved to climb off their bed, "No, no, allow me," Tyrion offered, and brought the food over.

"We mustn't eat in bed, it's not-"

"Proper?"

"Yes."

"It's fine by me," Tyrion replied with a shrug, and popped a piece of cheese in his mouth. Sansa ate like a lady: slow and polite. He took note of how much she had, not much but more than yesterday. _She cannot carry on like this_, he thought, as she nibbled at a bit of bread. He wanted to unburden her, make her smile. Tyrion glanced at the plate and snatched another piece of cheese. _Why the hell not? It's worth a shot, I suppose._ He stood on the foot of the bed, took a cordial bow, and handed it to her.

"You need to eat, sweetling, for the _gouda_ of the realm."

Sansa's lips twitched as laughter bubbled up in her throat. Tyrion stood, waiting. She put a hand to her mouth, to help suppress a giggle, and took the cheese.

"My lord, I must say, this is the second awful joke you've told in as many days," she confessed.

Tyrion felt some relief wash over him, and he sat back down. _I can help take her mind off of everything, if only for a while. _Sansa grinned. _She can become fond of me, with time. Maybe she can even learn to love me. _Tyrion felt himself grinning, too.

But when he heard the door open, he lunged for the blade on the side table, sending the tray clattering to the floor. He clutched the hilt tight, palms already sweating, and put himself between Sansa and the intruder. The girl froze in terror, all color leaving her face, eyes wide. The dagger slipped from Tyrion's hand.

"_Jaime!?_"

* * *

**A/N**: Hi everyone! I just wanted to thank you guys for your continued support, comments & faves! Also, I wanted to apologize for my cheesy cheese joke. I work with cheese at my job & I thought it would be so punny (SEE WHAT I DID THERE?!) if I said _FOR THE GOUDA OF THE REALM_ to my coworkers who watch GoT (I swear, I'm the only person who reads books). Needless to say, I killed it. With a cheese pun.


	8. JAIME : What Ever Happened?

**A/N**: Hi everyone! Sorry for the wait on this chapter. Life getting in the way, as always, haha. Thanks again for the continued support!

* * *

Jaime felt as he looked: haggard, wounded, and weary. His appearance aged him a decade; his flaxen hair was now brittle and white, with a raggedy beard growing inches from his chin. His bones showed through his sallow skin. Brienne of Tarth managed to deliver him home, in hopes to have the Stark girls returned to their mother, but with Catelyn Stark murdered, he wasn't quite sure what he should do.

Jaime became hollow, a husk, a shell, of who he used to be; with his sword hand gone, he could no longer even fight, let alone feed himself, dress himself, or wipe his own ass. For all the losses, he feared that Brienne might have instilled a sense of loyalty and morality in him. He had changed.

Being gone a full year, he felt a stranger in his own home. He wanted to see his little brother, the only person who would truly listen to and understand him. Jaime went directly to Tyrion's chambers, skipping over their father and even Cersei. _She can wait_, he thought as he walked up the long flight of stairs. His mind wandered to pushing the Stark boy out that window; he cringed, remembering the disgusting things he had done for his twin. He felt relief when he finally reached Tyrion's door.

Tyrion stood on his bed, dagger in hand, with Sansa Stark behind him. It took a few moments, but when he finally recognized Jaime, the blade slipped from his fingers.

"_Jaime!?_" he asked, incredulous, "You look like Seven Hells."

"I just got back," they laughed like they were boys again, and a sense of relief overcame him; forgetting himself, Jaime knelt to wrap his arms around Tyrion, but only one hand clapped down on his little brother's back. Tyrion grasped Jaime's arm by the elbow and wrenched it in front of his face.

"What happened to your _hand_?"

"What happened to your face?" They smiled, despite themselves, "You haven't lost any of your wit in the past year, I see."

"Neither have you," Tyrion hid the shock at Jaime's deteriorating condition well enough. Jaime glanced over at Sansa.

"Dearest brother, it would please me to introduce you to my lovely wife."

Sansa blushed, but the expression of surprise was frozen on her face. She swallowed. _Is it the fact that I am even alive that frightens her so? Or is it..._Jaime felt his missing hand twitch. _Only phantom flesh, don't let it get to you. A mere reflex._

"Your _wife_?"

"Only a few days ago, such a shame you weren't there. It was quite the spectacle."

"I'm sure it was," Jaime said, still eye to eye with his brother. _Only his face has changed_. "I swore an oath to Catelyn Stark," he explained, "An oath to return her daughters safely home to her."

The words hung heavy around them, bringing on a stifling silence. Jaime had taken many vows before, breaking most. He launched into telling the explanation: from his capture, to his promise to Catelyn, to his release into the custody of Brienne, to the brutality of Vargo Hoat, to the battle with the bear. He expected Tyrion to make some sarcastic remark or jape at his expense, but he remained silent throughout; Jaime told everything up until the exact moment.

"You took an oath, but Arya is missing and Winterfell is fallen. What now?" Tyrion asked, carefully avoiding the subject of Catelyn's murder, for Sansa's sake, "Finally, an oath that you haven't broken by choice, brother."

"And here I was, believing you wouldn't try to insult me."

"Effort is worth something, yes?" Tyrion said with a smirk, "There's a tale I need to tell you as well, but I will be brief: our dearest Joffrey attempted to rape Sansa."

Jaime, still kneeling, had no reply. He had known all along that Joffrey was a bad seed: his narcissistic and haughty personality, the cruel treatment of his brother and sister, his penchant to torturing animals. Even the execution of Ned Stark did not shake Jaime, at the time. But now, after everything he went through with Brienne, and hearing Tyrion tell of the newly crowned king's sadistic treatment of Sansa, it chilled him. Jaime never wanted to believe that Joffrey would be this vicious, this _evil_. _Not Joffrey, not my_...

"Jaime, you know I speak the truth," his brother's hand fell on Jaime's shoulder, "Having him on the Iron Throne endangers not only my wife, but Westeros as a whole. You know this, Jaime, you know," Tyrion gave him a hard stare. He knew the truth about Joffrey. _But Myrcella and Tommen are good and sweet children, _he reasoned. His mind went to Cersei, to all of the times he slid himself between her thighs, sweating and moaning, thrusting mercilessly, spilling his seed inside of her sweet cunt.

"I know," he replied, throat dry.

"I'm not sure how much more she can take," Tyrion said "Come, dear."

Tyrion held a blunt hand to his bride, and she took it, hers enveloping his. He kissed the tips of Sansa's slender fingers, and gazed up at her. Jaime could sense a growing mutual affection between the pair, and memories of that lonely dirt road and a pretty, lowborn girl floated into his consciousness. _He was young and foolish, as was I. _Jaime felt the shame wash over him again, his phantom limb quivered.

If Jaime never went off to chase down the girl's pursuers, nothing would have transpired. He would have ridden off with Tyrion, and that would have been the end of it. But Jaime always craved a fight, especially under the guise of chivalry. So he abandoned his brother with the terrified girl, leaving them to their own devices. Jaime imagined his brother would take the poor thing to the inn, comfort her, and wait for his return. _Tyrion comforted her alright, with his cock._ It should have been a humorous story, one he would tell for ages. _Remember when you fucked that girl we found on the road and became a real man? _Tyrion would redden, and Jaime would laugh. _That's how it should have been, not like this. Never like this._

Weeks after the chance encounter with the young woman, Jaime discovered Tyrion had wed her the night they met. Word found its way to their father quickly, and when Jaime had been called to Tywin's chambers late one night, he knew it would all be over soon. Dread crept into his chest and settled, like the chill no fire could ward off.

Jaime obeyed his father's command: tell Tyrion that the girl was a lying, gold digging whore. _Tyrion will believe every word from you, Jaime. He puts all of his trust in you, and won't doubt you...We'll rid ourselves of the girl, and put an end to this mess your brother has made. _Tywin's remarks were harsh, but he had been correct: Tyrion believed every false word that spilled forth from his brother's mouth. The girl was to be punished for her treachery; Tyrion would be punished as well, for his foolishness, for shaming House Lannister, for falling in love, for being a dwarf. Tyrion had been forced to look on, as the girl whom he had married was raped in turn by father's guard. His younger brother had her last, and dropped a gold coin into her hand as payment. _Because a Lannister is worth more_, Tyrion had explained, his face cold and expressionless. He would never forget seeing his brother so broken.

Jaime stood and shifted uncomfortably, knees aching from the stone floor. Tyrion turned to him.

"Jaime, you've always been good to me."

"Yes." _You don't know the truth._

"I need your help now more than ever. Our father made a promise, but you know how he lies."

"Yes." _More than you know, Tyrion. _

"Can I rely on you? I know you're in poor health, but-"

"Yes," Jaime interrupted, "You can rely on me, Tyrion." _A Lannister always pays his debts. _


	9. SANSA & JOFFREY : Revival

Sansa's nerves got the best of her; Tyrion might have been at ease with his brother, but she had not. She had somehow recognized him before her husband, her whole body going rigid. She knew about Jaime and the Kingsguard's attack on her father and his men, but her fear and distrust of Jaime Lannister went beyond that. Jaime's appearance startled her; he now looked more like a peasant beggar than a knight of the Kingsguard. The year had been cruel for him, but she knew it had been well deserved. Sansa felt a twinge of sympathy, after seeing the loss of his sword hand. Tyrion and Jaime shared a good rapport, and the joy the brothers felt at their reunion should have been contagious. _His heart is black, and he is not to be trusted, _she thought as she watched Tyrion embrace sat on her marital bed in silence.

"...my lovely wife."

Sansa caught the last bit of Tyrion's statement and felt the heat creep up her neck. _He called me lovely,_ she thought but her expression of shock did not fade, eyes remained wide throughout Jaime's explanation of his yearlong ordeal after being captured. Tyrion told of Joffrey's actions, and she shuddered at the word _rape_.

She tried to put it out of her mind, the sound of her clothes being ripped from her body, the coldness of the stone as she hit the floor, the adrenaline that coursed through her blood. Joffrey's high-pitched cackle rang in her ears. But when she remembered the tip of his cock at her entrance, the image of Joffrey morphed into her husband, drunk and eager. She flushed again, recalling how his fingers stroked her, how she cried out every time he thrust himself inside. Sansa felt ambiguous and confused.

"Come, dear."

She took his hand, and he kissed her fingers. Even with his short stature, stump of a nose, and scarred face, Sansa felt herself ease up, even if only a bit, in his presence. _I could be married to a monster, _she thought, as his lips brushed her fingers, _he only looks a monster on the outside. I am lucky._

Sansa caught Jaime staring, a troubled look on his haggard face. When Tyrion asked his brother if he was on their side, his reply was a quick yes. He promised to do anything in his power to keep Sansa safe; he claimed to be bound to an oath made to Catelyn, but there was something else, something being kept from her. Sansa pushed it from her mind, unable to bear the thought of her mother.

"I know you don't trust Jaime," Tyrion said after his older brother took his leave, "But I assure you, he'll do what he can."

Sansa thought on her brothers: honorable Robb, sweet Bran, and rambunctious Rickon. Even the solemn face of Jon Snow floated into her consciousness. Her sister, Arya, crossed her mind for a moment, and was gone. _They are all dead, and nothing can change that. I only have Tyrion now. _She felt a faint smile on her lips, as her husband plucked the dagger from the bed and returned it to its sheath. He handed it off to her.

"I want you to keep it, just in case," he repeated.

Sansa nodded.

"Keep it concealed," she felt his gaze, mismatched eyes running along her young figure, "...somewhere. Keep it concealed somewhere."

She nodded again, and tucked it safely in her bodice. The tanned leather sheath felt awkward against her bare skin. _Better to have some weapon than none, _she thought as she adjusted to it against her body. Tyrion refilled their wine glasses, and when Sansa refused hers, he dumped it into his own.

"Cannot let good wine go to waste, especially during times like these," he said, as he knocked it back.

_How can such a small man drink so much? Should I be concerned? _Everything weighed heavy in her chest, crushing her. She suddenly felt exhausted, and she closed her eyes. _What can I do about any of it now? _Sansa stole a glance at her brooding husband, now staring at the bottom of his empty chalice. She snatched up hers, and filled it. _Nothing can be done. This is my fate now. He's all I have._ She sipped the tart red wine; Tyrion noticed, and followed suit. He raised his cup.

"To the king of Westeros," he announced, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Gods be good, and save us all."

The two glasses touched, and Sansa tossed back the rest of her wine. It felt as though instead of going to her stomach, it went right to her head. She felt the heat in her cheeks. Tyrion's sardonic wit was cast aside when another knock came on the bedroom door. Sansa clutched her chalice, and swallowed. _Don't be afraid._

"Lord Tyrion, Lady Sansa, your presence is requested by his grace in the throne room," a knight of the Kingsguard called from behind the heavy oak door, "Lord Jaime has been released, and has returned to King's Landing."

"I suppose it's time to formally welcome Jaime back. Let's go and seem surprised, shall we?" Tyrion held a hand out to Sansa, and she took it again. When their hands touched, she felt a ripple through her skin, something she couldn't comprehend. It chilled her, prickling her flesh. She smiled all the same, and let him lead her down the hall.

* * *

Joffrey sat on the Iron Throne, consumed by boredom. He had been precariously resting an elbow on the armrest, taking care not to cut himself on one of the throne's many sharp edges, head in his hand. When Sansa and Tyrion entered the throne room, a slick grin crossed his handsome face. He watched from a distance as the pair made their way up the aisle. _Uncle Imp looks even smaller from up here, and Sansa..._ he licked his lips, remembering what her bare skin felt like, how she shuddered in terror at the pressure of his hips on her. He felt a hand on his shoulder that jolted him out of his lustful thoughts.

"Joffrey, focus," his mother hissed, pushing a few golden blond strands away from her eyes. Joffrey expected Jaime to look a disheveled, dirty mess, but not his mother. Cersei's appearance was always befitting of a queen: elegant, poised, and put together. But today was different, her hair was tousled, and face flushed. She seemed a bit off kilter, whether by Jaime's sudden arrival or not, her son could not say. He did spy his mother and her twin leaving the Queen's Ballroom together, but thought nothing of it.

"Uncle Tyrion, Lady Sansa," Joffrey called out, "So, you finally made it."

"You summon, and we appear, your grace," Tyrion replied, smirk twisted onto his ugly face.

"Well, you took long enough, but with those little legs of yours, I can't say I'm surprised," the king said languidly, and members of the court sniggered. Joffrey clapped his hands together, "Now that everyone is present, we can welcome Uncle Jaime home."

Jaime had bathed, changed into clean clothes, and even had his beard trimmed. It was all rather quick and haphazard, so he still appeared a mess, but improved. His appearance had caught everyone, Joffrey included, off guard. _He's almost as deformed and grotesque as Uncle Imp, now,_ the king mused, _But now, time to get down to business, _and he waved his hands to silence the court's polite clapping for Jaime's return.

"We have another important announcement to make, don't we, grandfather?" Joffrey asked, and Tywin Lannister gave a solemn nod. The king snapped his fingers, "Bring out the sheet!"

The two chambermaids Tywin had sent to collect the sheet now stood at the base of the steps of the throne, fabric stretched between them. Near the middle was a dark, coagulated bloodstain. Joffrey smirked as Sansa's face turned white as death from embarrassment, and Uncle Tyrion's went as crimson as the Lannister house banner. All eyes were on the dwarf and the traitor's daughter. Many members of the court laughed openly, viewing the display of Sansa's maiden's blood as a mummer's farce. Some shook their heads in pity. _It's such a shame she had to lose her maidenhead to _that. _Such a beautiful girl too, _one woman clucked in disapproval.

"Get that out of here," Jaime Lannister was the one who dared come to the defense of Tyrion and Sansa.

"Uncle Jaime, I know you have recently returned home, but in case you have failed to notice,_ I_ am king now," Joffrey explained, wrath flashing across his face, "And the king does as he pleases."

"This is insanity," Jaime replied in disbelief, as he rounded on his father and sister, "You're going to allow this?"

"Insanity is easy to come by these days, brother," Tyrion stepped up, "Yes, I took her maidenhead, and enjoyed every moment," Joffrey felt his uncle's mismatched eyes bore into him, and returned the stare, "Not that his grace would understand such vile things."

Joffrey did not know how to respond to that. _Yes warrants an explanation, no makes me look a child. _Sansa, face flushed as usual, stood behind her disfigured husband, hand gripping his shoulder._ Such a little bitch, Sansa, thinking my uncle will save you. No one can save you, not here. _Joffrey's nostrils flared, lips pursed. _ I'm the king! The fucking king!_

"_You dare insult your_ _king_!?" he exclaimed, childish lilt in his voice, as he jumped from the Iron Throne.

"_He's bleeding_!"

Tyrion opened his mouth to reply, but Cersei interjected before he could get a word out. In his blind rage, Joffrey had sliced his arm open on his throne, nearly elbow to wrist. Blood rained down onto the stone floor, creating a dark puddle at his feet. The boy king gasped in horror, and Blount and Trant rushed over just in time to catch him as his knees buckled.

"We are done here," Tywin Lannister announced, waving a dismissive hand at the startled crowd, "Leave!"

Members of the court scrambled for the door, crowding the long aisle to the exit. They jostled past Sansa and Tyrion, whispering and glancing over their shoulders as they did. The last image Joffrey caught before being rushed to the maester was of Tyrion standing in the crowd, smirk twisted onto his face, Sansa still clinging to him.

* * *

"You shouldn't provoke him like that," Sansa whispered, as she and Tyrion climbed the stairs up to their chambers.

"I shouldn't have, for your sake," he confessed, "I'm surprised Joffrey hasn't had my tongue cut out to spite my insolent mouth."

"Please, do not say such things," she begged, "Please."

"Well, Jaime has already kept his word, just as I told you he would," he patted her hand in reassurance, "He seems...different, now."

Once they reached the door to the solar, Tyrion nearly doubled over, breathless from the climb. He grimaced as he rubbed the aching muscles in his legs. Sansa helped him up onto the chaise lounge, and sat beside him as he stretched out. He beckoned her to lie down, and Sansa rested her head on her husband's shoulder. Tyrion put a short arm around her, drawing her closer. She nuzzled him, and he stroked her hair in turn. Sansa welcomed his touch; she didn't want to admit that she craved that sweet burn between her thighs again. She bit her lower lip, but a soft sigh escaped her, and she buried her face in his neck.

"Why are you hiding, sweetling?"

"I'm not hiding."

"You are."

"No," she answered, lifting her head, "Not anymore."


	10. TYRION & JAIME : Consequence

**A/N** : Hi, everyone! Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. I had a bit of trouble of deciding where to go next. I want to alert everyone to the fact that this is an **M rated chapter for sex and violence**. Feel free to leave a comment after reading. Thanks again for the continued support!

* * *

The pleasurable sensation rushed through him when their lips touched, the sweet burn overwhelming him. It had been many years since Tyrion last felt this way_. _Her arms slipped around his neck, and pressed her body against his, awkward and nervous.

"Sansa, you don't have to do this," he explained, gripping her shoulders, "It can wait-"

Another kiss silenced him, and Sansa stripped off her dress and smallclothes. The sheathed blade tumbled to the floor, forgotten. She knelt at his feet, breathing heavily. After a few moments of silence, the exposure left her feeling foolish, and an arm went across her chest, a hand dropped between her thighs. Tyrion slid off the chaise, and motioned toward their bed. She climbed up, still trying to cover herself; he ran a hand along her lower back, naked flesh prickling at his touch. A manic quickness overcame him, coursing through his blood.

"I want to show you something," he announced, licking his lips.

"Show me wh- ohh!"

Sansa gasped when Tyrion's head dropped between her thighs, tongue lashing in and out. Her muscles seized, but it goaded him to work harder and faster. She gripped the sheets, tried to squirm away; Tyrion roughly grabbed her hips, latched himself onto her, and dragged her back toward his eager mouth.

"Tyrion," she whimpered, "Mmm..."

He said nothing, and kept working on her body; the shuddering spasms told him that she was close. Sansa writhed uncontrollably as she had her first orgasm, but he wouldn't let her go until she was finished. He raised his head, wiped his mouth, and collapsed beside her. With ragged and heavy breaths, they lay together in a state of euphoria, and Sansa buried her face in his neck, heart drumming in her chest.

"Tyrion," she said in a low, breathy voice, "Oh, Tyrion..."

_It's happening again._ Tysha had moaned his name, gasping after a fierce orgasm, asking him how he learned to pleasure a woman like that. He told her the truth: _I did what I thought would feel good._ His first wife had sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. How his second would react, he did not know. Sansa had slid beneath the sheets, covering her naked body, not daring to look him in the eye.

"What happened to not hiding anymore?" Tyrion questioned, feeling the heat radiating from her body, as she buried her face deeper into the crook of his neck.

"How?" she asked, muffled voice sweet and innocent.

"How what?"

"How did you learn..._that_?"

"An individual as hideous as I needs to learn a few tricks."

"Oh," she was caught up in a state of bliss, and a few moments of silence passed, "Please, don't abandon me," she whispered.

"Never." _I won't allow it, not again_.

Mid afternoon haze filled their bedchamber, flooding the room in warm orange and yellow light. Sansa did not move, from comfort or fear, Tyrion could not say. His legs began to cramp, but he said nothing, and continued to stroke Sansa's auburn hair. The girl began to doze off, soft snore escaping every now and then. A grin cracked across Tyrion Lannister's ugly face as he kissed his wife's temple, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

After the debacle in the throne room, Jaime Lannister retreated. He had always lived his life with eyes closed, acting on impulse alone. Lying on his bed, he thought about how he never gave any decision a second thought. But now? He flexed the fingers that were no longer there, and he wondered where his innate cruelness had come from. Seeing Joffrey needlessly embarrass and abuse Sansa and Tyrion not only disgusted Jaime, but also brought back the shame that was becoming so familiar.

His mind went back to his brother's first wife, to the lie he so dutifully told. _I destroyed Tyrion's only joy._ Jaime hadn't felt anything in so long, and the shame overwhelmed him. The sound of the bedchamber door creaking open snapped him out of his wandering thoughts.

Cersei stepped in, looking regal in emerald and gold, although her usual perfect image was askew. A few locks of hair hung limp in front of her flushed face, obscuring her sharp green eyes. Jaime thought about ripping the dress off, and fucking her senseless in the doorway. He swallowed, and cleared his throat.

"Sister, you shouldn't have come here."

"Why not?"

"You know," Jaime gave his twin a sharp glare, "The rumors."

"Oh, fuck the rumors."

"Cersei, please," Jaime begged, "Someone could have seen you-"

"Fuck them. Fuck them _and_ the rumors. We _need_ to talk."

"About what? Joffrey?"

"Joffrey is...out of control."

"Oh, you admit it now?" Jaime asked, sitting up in bed, "Ned Stark's execution wasn't enough?"

"I-I underestimated Joffrey," Cersei stammered through a clenched jaw.

"Underestimated?"

"Yes."

"He tried to rape Sansa."

_. _Jaime's words seemed to hang in the air, creating a tense, heavy silence between the twins. Cersei's eyes widened into a menacing glare, and he knew what she was thinking. _Not my son...not _our _son. _Her mouth opened, and immediately shut.

"Unable to conjure up one of the lies father is so famous for?"

She said nothing. The uncontrollable sensation of rage and lust crept back beneath his skin.

"Can't cover for Joffrey anymore, can you? He's beyond you now, our _beloved _king_-"_

"_Shut up_!" she spat, "You're no different from Tyrion," motioning toward his amputated limb, "_Freak_."

"But you found it so _amusing _earlier," Jaime replied, jolting from the bed and spitting venom, "_You_ made the suggestion."

Cersei stood, dignified and motionless. She suddenly gathered her skirts in a huff, and moved for the door. _Oh dear sister, you think you can just walk away from this?_

"Where are you going, Cersei?"

"This conversation is over-"

"No, we've only just begun," he blocked her exit, stump of an arm directing her back.

"Jaime..."

"You were so _eager_ this morning. What happened?"

"Jaime, I-"

"Why the sudden change of heart, Cersei?"

"I was lonely," she sidled around him, but he anticipated it and moved with her.

"You're not walking away," Jaime's eyes were wild and wide, but his face remained expressionless, as he menaced toward his sister, "I won't allow it. I've done so much to protect you, to protect _us_," he explained, "And now you reject _me_? Call _me_ a freak? If I'm such a freak, what does that make _you,_ dear sister?"

"Joffrey truly is your son, isn't he?" she replied with a smirk. Jaime advanced, pinning her against his bed, and shoving her down, pushing her legs apart, "Do as you will. You won't have it any other way, just like every other man-"

Jaime struck her across her pretty face to silence her, and her dress went up, as his breeches went down. Cersei lay like a corpse, stiff and dead. He knew she wouldn't resist, as he slid his amputated limb between her legs.

He felt no shame.


End file.
